


An Honest Hand and a True Heart

by Cinaed



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Doriath, Hugs, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then Túrin bowed before them, and took his leave. And soon after he put on the Dragon-helm, and took arms, and went away to the north-marches, and was joined to the elven-warriors who there waged unceasing war upon the Orcs and all servants and creatures of Morgoth." -Túrin in Doriath, <em>Children of Húrin</em> </p><p>Beleg had come often to Menegroth. Now Túrin came to the marches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Honest Hand and a True Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



The arrow flew true. The orc, ready to bury its axe in Langon’s unprotected back, groped futilely at the arrow in its throat instead and fell. It would not make the mistake of drawing so near to Doriath’s borders again, nor carry any word back to its master.  

Beleg had slain two more when a stranger emerged from the trees and threw himself into the fray, felling an orc in a single stroke of his blade. He called no greeting or battle-cry, grimly silent. For a moment Beleg did not recognise him, his face made strange beneath his helm. But then the sword flashed in the midday sun and Beleg remembered a younger Túrin’s stubborn look as he swore to master that particular sword thrust even if it took him weeks. 

Beleg’s heart leaped. He almost laughed, his bow singing sweetly as he cut down the last of the orcs. As soon as Langon cleaved the final orc’s head from its neck, Beleg hastened towards where Túrin stood.

Before Beleg could reach him, Túrin sheathed his sword and turned. He swept his helm from his head, offering Beleg one of his rare smiles, his grey eyes bright and his dark hair in disarray. 

For a second Beleg couldn’t speak. How like and unlike Túrin looked from the calm, defiant child he had once found wandering the woods! Something tightened in his chest. 

“Túrin,” Beleg said, finding his voice. When he reached out to him, Túrin did not shy away as he often did, but met him halfway, the embrace so fierce that the air was driven from his lungs and he was lifted clean off his feet. Beleg laughed breathlessly into Túrin’s ear. “Gently! Gently! What shall I tell my fellow wardens if I escape unscathed by my enemies but am injured by my friend?” 

Túrin muttered an apology and released him, colour high in his face. Still, he let Beleg clasp his arm, and traces of his smile lingered as they looked upon each other. “King Thingol has given me leave to fight by your side if you will have me,” he said. 

Again Beleg felt that strange tightening in his chest. “I would sooner lay down my bow than turn you away. I must thank the king, the next time I come to Menegroth,” he said, and then shook Túrin a little, smiling. “But come! The other wardens will be glad for a new face.”

“Especially one so often spoken of,” Langon remarked laughingly. He ignored Beleg’s quelling look, offering Túrin a broad smile. “Finally, a chance to meet the king’s fosterling who so caught Beleg’s interest!” 

"Enough,” Beleg said. He warmed a little at the question in Túrin’s clear grey eyes. It had not seemed strange at the time, telling the other wardens of teaching Túrin and of his progress in the different crafts whenever he returned from Menegroth, but now, with Túrin watching him, it seemed queer. He pressed Túrin’s arm and then released him.

“I am glad you are here, Túrin,” he said, and earned a faint but sincere smile as he added, “Now, let us return to the cabin. We shall toast your first battle.” 


End file.
